Not Who You Think
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Afterschool Special tag: Dean pays a visit of his own.


**Not Who You Think**  
K Hanna Korossy

This was stupid.

Dean knew that, dragging a hand through his hair as he took a couple of steps toward the door, then turned back again. It was stupid, something that a girl—that _Sam_—would do. Even now _was_ doing, as a matter of fact, back at the school with his old teacher. Yet Dean somehow couldn't make himself leave.

It shouldn't have mattered…but it did. She did. She'd done something to him, drawn him out, made him face himself, admit things he never would have otherwise. Then messed him up so badly that Dean had locked himself up tight afterward. He hadn't let anyone else get inside him again like that, not until Cassie. And _that_ had worked out so well.

Dean cursed softly under his breath as he did a one-eighty and bounded up the porch steps before he lost his courage again and went back to pacing and talking to himself like some nutcase.

Yeah, because this was so _normal._

Dean took a breath and rang the doorbell.

A few seconds passed. He started to turn to leave, relief mixed with a painful disappointment in his chest. And then the door opened.

It was her. More than ten years, and she'd hardly changed.

"Yes?" She gave him a polite smile even as she looked at him curiously, maybe a touch warily.

"Uh." His thoughts scattered at the onslaught of physical memories: her lips, the brush of her skin, the silk of her hair. She hadn't been his first, or his last, but something about her had stuck with him. Returning to Truman High had brought it all clamoring back, and Dean had uncharacteristically taken a chance and looked her up. She still lived in town, and next thing he knew, here he was on her doorstep. "Amanda? Amanda Heckerling?"

Her smile turned a little puzzled but didn't go away. "Actually…it's Amanda Brightman now. Can I help you?" She tilted her head, more curious than suspicious.

"Uh, yeah." Great, good impression with all the stammering. "I think you knew my…cousin, Dean Winchester? You used to go to high school together?"

Her eyes widened, surprise but also a mix of emotions he didn't know her well enough to read. Dean suddenly wished he did. "Oh my gosh—yeah, I knew there was something familiar about you. You look a lot like him." She opened the screen door, not inviting him in but removing the barrier between them.

Dean forced a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"I, uh…I heard about Dean. Bank robberies and stuff, right?" she asked uncertainly. "Did he…go to prison?"

Dean's smile slipped, his throat suddenly too tight as he tried to swallow. She'd heard about his record. Awesome. Even though it'd been splashed all over the TV, especially after that stupid shapeshifter in the bank case, he'd still hoped… Dean shook his head dumbly. "No, uh, he…died. There was an explosion…"

Another moment of surprise, then a glimpse of what he was pretty sure was regret. "Wow. I'm, uh… Wow. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah." Her porch was blue-grey and looked freshly painted. Mr. Brightman, whoever he was, apparently took good care of his family.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Amanda tentatively asked, "Were you two…close?"

This was just an act, right? He wasn't even playing himself. Dean shoved his shoulders back and put on a regretful grin. "Naw, not really. But we stayed in touch and he…uh, he talked about you sometimes."

Definitely took her aback this time. "He did?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "I mean, I know he wasn't at Truman all that long, but he said he remembered you. You were…different. Nice. He wished…" He faltered a moment. "He wished things'd turned out different between you two."

"Oh." It was her turn to shimmy uncomfortably. "I…I didn't know." Amanda chewed her lip. "Oh, uh, do you want to come in? My husband should be here soon and the kids are out back, but…"

Smart girl, making sure he knew she wasn't alone. The smile came more easily, even if it tugged something inside him. "Kids, huh?"

She still had nice teeth. "Two girls, Michaela and Becky."

"That's…that's great." Dean cleared his throat and gestured vaguely behind him. "I should really be…"

"Oh. Yeah, okay." Amanda rubbed at her arms. "Um, I don't even know your name."

"Sam." It came out automatically.

"Sam. Like Dean's brother?"

He hadn't expected her to remember. "Like Dean's brother," he affirmed.

Her shoulders came down a little. "You know, I don't really know what happened to Dean. I mean, bank robbery?" Her eyebrows arched. "I didn't think he had that in him. That whole 'bad boy' thing seemed like just an act, you know? But…he did really seem to care about his brother. Did he…did he keep looking after Sam?"

And this was why revisiting the past was such a bad idea. He hadn't wanted her to remember him badly; it felt important he try to set the record straight. But Dean wasn't sure this wasn't even worse. Maybe Sam wanted his _To Sir, With Love_ moment, but all that really happened when you looked back was that you tripped and fell flat on your face. His gut twisted as he managed to answer, "He tried. He really did, right up to the end." It came out thick.

Amanda smiled, unaware of the emotion she'd churned up inside him, as unable to read him as he was her. "That's really nice. And I'm sorry. I kinda felt bad for him—he had a lot of…potential. You know?"

Dean's mouth curled sickly. "Yeah. I thought so, too."

"Well. Thanks for stopping by. I'm glad you did."

He couldn't echo it. Couldn't do more than raise a hand halfway in goodbye, then turn away and move mechanically down the steps. Behind him, he heard the door quietly shut, and the happy shrieks of little girls from the back yard followed him down the sidewalk.

Sam was sitting on the school steps when Dean pulled up. If he'd had a backpack on and been about two feet shorter, it would've been just like a thousand other times when Dean had picked him up from school.

He eyed Sam discreetly as his brother got up and walked to the car, looking for anything amiss. After all, last time Sammy had gone to talk to his old teacher, he'd come back limping and bloody from his run-in with O-Ren Ishii. He was still pretty battered from the previous night's fight with a possessed football player, but the only obvious thing wrong now was Sam's hangdog face. Dean really hoped the teach wasn't also up on national news and the Winchesters' public run-ins with the law.

But Sam didn't seem to be in a hurry to get out of there, trudging up to the car and easing inside. Once in the seat, he just stared straight ahead.

"You talk to your teacher?" Dean finally asked when no report seemed forthcoming.

"Yeah. You find Amanda?" Sam asked the windshield.

Dean bit back a snort. "Yeah."

Sam finally glanced over. "How'd it go?"

Dean didn't hesitate. "Great. You?"

"Fine," Sam said just as quickly, head nodding like a bobble doll. "Good."

Uh-huh. "Super," Dean said a little too brightly, and put the car in gear. Sam didn't protest when Dean peeled away from the curb and sped off, anxious to put Truman High in his rear view.

Neither of them looked back.

**The End**


End file.
